


Restless In Peace

by SkarmorySilver



Category: Haunted Mansion (Ride)
Genre: Grim Griping Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 19:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16667179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkarmorySilver/pseuds/SkarmorySilver
Summary: Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis. Are the portraits in this haunted room actually bickering amongst themselves? Or is it your imagination?Adapted from Choco-Kun's Haunted Mansion mockup fancomic on DeviantArt! All credit for the original idea goes to him.





	Restless In Peace

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don't take any credit for the original story this one-shot is based on! It is an adaptation of a nearly decade-old fancomic by Choco-Kun on DeviantArt, which you can read starting from here: [Mansion Mockup](https://www.deviantart.com/choco-kun/art/Mansion-Mockup-Pages-1-2-112117219)
> 
> I stumbled upon _The Haunted Mansion_ fanon a little while ago, and after seeing _The Haunted Mansion_ children's book at one of our local Barnes and Nobles a while ago (actually an illustrated adaptation of "Grim Grinning Ghosts"), I thought back to the above comic and decided to write a fanfic version of it, with updated info taken from _The Haunted Mansion_ Fandom wiki. You can read about it below, but be warned that some of the info is a little lacking. Still, it's definitely worth checking out if you enjoy the ride itself and similar attractions, and want to know more about what fans of them have done with the 999 happy haunts that live there!
> 
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> [The Haunted Mansion Fandom Wiki](http://haunted-mansion-fandom.wikia.com/wiki/Haunted_Mansion_Wiki)
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> 
> Original comic/script (c) [Choco-Kun](https://www.deviantart.com/choco-kun)  
>  _The Haunted Mansion_ (c) Disney

**“Welcome, foolish mortals… to the HAUNTED MANSION!”** The booming voice greeted the ears of the latest crowd of tourists to enter the dilapidated-looking building, excitement and trepidation filling the hearts and minds of young and old alike. They were about to enter the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland, some for the first time in their lives! The super-popular attraction was raking in quite a good haul at this time of the year, especially after word of mouth had begun to spread in recent weeks that there were more than a few unexpected turns of events that various guests had encountered during their visits. Who knew what awaited this particular group here and now?

 **“I am your host… your _ghost host_ ,”** the voice continued, following up with an evil chuckle as everyone filed into the famous entrance hall. “Kindly step all the way in please, and make room for everyone. There’s no turning back now. Our tour begins here in this gallery, where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state.”

“Please drag your bodies away from the walls and into the _dead_ center of the hall,” added a supporting stagehand, the tourists following suit.

The panel sealing everyone in slid shut, and within moments, the only light in the room was from the eight leering candle-holding gargoyles surrounding the group. Four iconic portraits were gazing down at them, depicting four different people from the chest up: a beautiful girl holding a parasol, a bearded man in a tailored suit holding a piece of paper, an elderly woman with a rose in her hands, and a confident-looking brown-haired man in a bowler hat.

 **“Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis,”** the host continued, as the floor and ceiling began to simultaneously peel away from each other. **“Is this haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination — hmm?”**

The room was indeed stretching, that was clear enough. But what nobody realized at that point was that the corner of one of the girl’s eyes was imperceptibly quivering.

**“And consider this dismaying observation: this chamber has no windows and no doors… which offers you this chilling challenge… _To find a way out!_ ”**

The Ghost Host’s laughter echoed throughout the room as the portraits’ true natures were finally made clear. The girl was standing on a fraying tightrope over a pond containing an alligator with its jaws open wide. The bearded man had no pants, just boxer shorts, and was standing on a lit barrel of dynamite. The elderly woman was sitting on a tombstone with the startled male bust at the bottom having a hatchet embedded in his head. And the brown-haired man was sitting on the shoulders of another man with a thick white mustache, who was in turn perched on a third man with short light brown hair and beard, waist-deep in quicksand.

Pretty much everyone who knew the first thing about the attraction expected all of these revelations. But nobody, not even Vincent Gracey the Ghost Host himself, expected the girl to suddenly grab her temples with both hands and scream, “ _THAT’S IT!!!_ ”

The rest of the portraits also sprang to life an instant later, every single face in the room bearing a shocked expression along with various degrees of mortification.

“I can’t take this anymore! Me and my gator _both!_ ” The girl, Sally Slater, continued ranting in complete ignorance of both her current predicament and the fact that every eye was now trained upon her and her sharp-toothed pet. “All we do is just stand here and stare at any visitors, day and night, seven days a week! It’s the SAME THING, and it’s been like that for almost FIFTY YEARS! How on Earth can the rest of you spirits even _stand_ it?!”

“Oh, for crying out loud…” The widow ghost, Constance Hatchaway, shook her head in disgust.

“Well, that’s a first,” groaned Phineas Queeg, the man in the bowler hat, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“A first, really?” replied Edward Foster, the man Phineas was sitting on. “This is her third meltdown this month!”

“I think he meant the first in front of the tourists,” said Daniel Patterson, the one holding the other two subjects in his portrait above the quicksand.

“I was about to say the same,” said Alexander Nitrokoff, the ghostly politician standing on the dynamite barrel. “And perhaps it’d be better to save your venting for after the tour, young lady…”

“Don’t you ‘young lady’ me, Alex!” Sally retorted. “My alligator and I have been struggling to remain still in this accursed portrait for nearly _half a century!_ Do you have any idea how _insipid_ it’s become?!”

The reptile in question snapped its jaws a mere inch from her foot, and got a smack upside the head from his owner’s umbrella in return. “Down! Bad gator!” she scolded as her pet sank back into the water with a hiss of guilty compliance. “No Sally for you! I know you’re starving, but it’s not like _I_ can do anything about it!”

“Shut up and get over yourself, Sally,” said Constance, rubbing her forehead. “You’re humiliating all of us in front of the guests.”

“Excuse me?!” the girl snapped back.

“This again, huh?” Phineas muttered, feeling helpless to stop the oncoming train-wreck. His cohorts muttered in agreement about the portrait ghosts needing a vacation.

“Come _on_ now, Sally.” Constance sighed in clear exasperation. “All of us have led jolly lives, or at least I have. But now we must atone for the mistakes we–”

“ _ATONE?!_ ” cried Sally. “What the Hell do _I_ have to atone for?! I died in a freak accident while performing at the manor grounds!”

“I was blown to kingdom come when I stumbled into the explosives shed in the backyard,” added Alex.

“And we drowned in the swamps outside the manor thanks to a dirty trick on the part of Leota’s daughter,” added Daniel, pointing at the sign reading “QUICKSAND” next to him.

“Come to think of it, maybe our deaths weren’t even accidents.” Sally glared at nothing in particular. “That power-hungry hussy of a fortune teller, _Leota_ , may have been responsible for them just because we happened to just waltz into the estate without knowing that we were intruding upon whatever sort of dastardly plot she was up to!”

 _“Technically, Ms. Slater, your death was entirely on you,”_ replied a female voice that resonated in everyone’s mind that could only have come from Madame Leota. _“You should’ve known better than to use such a worn-down rope over a gator-infested swamp. Anyway. Got any threes, Edgar?”_

The tourists heard the sound of a raven cawing in reply. Sally bristled a little at Leota’s remark, but she ignored the sentiments of both her and Edgar.

“My point, Constance, is that we never deserved to end up the way we are now, which is more than I can say for you!”

“Please stop talking,” the elder lady growled, clutching her rose a little tighter in her fingers. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“A headache, you say? I thought you were good at curing those, or at least the ones your husbands must’ve had.” Sally grinned mischievously, having found the perfect opportunity to alleviate her boredom.

“That… That’s none of your business, you twat!” Constance sputtered, her projection in the attic reaching for her spectral hatchet.

“Oh, but it is,” replied Sally. “Let’s see, there’s Ambrose Harper…”

“Frank Banks as well,” said Alex.

“The Marquis de Doome,” added Phineas.

“Reginald Caine, too,” said Edward.

“And George Hightower, obviously,” added Daniel, nodding towards the gravestone Constance was sitting on. “And I recall you tried your luck with a final husband as well, but it didn’t work out.”

Constance was now looking murderously angry, glancing at each of them as though wondering who to throw her weapon at first.

“Wow, _six_ husbands?!” Sally was grinning from ear to ear now in a manner akin to her crocodilian companion. “However did you manage them all?”

“LET ME SHOW YOU, YOU VAPID CIRCUS FREAK!” cried Constance, suddenly whipping out her hatchet and sticking her head and arms out of her picture. The guests emitted frightened gasps and yelps at this development.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, you BLOODTHIRSTY, GOLD-DIGGING _HAG?!_ ” a now parasol-brandishing Sally replied, also emerging partway from her own painting, while her gator did the same and snapped its jaws in the direction of the widow’s portrait.

“Ladies! Please—” cried Alex, while the Quicksand Men desperately attempted to look like they had no involvement in the impending pandemonium.

**“ENOUGH!”**

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, peeking up at the ceiling which to see a spectral and very displeased-looking Vincent Gracey sticking his head through it.

 **“Do you _mind?!_ ”** the Ghost Host shouted angrily. **“I’m trying to work here, you’re embarrassing me in front of the tourists, and need I remind you people that bringing personal matters into your line of work is _expressly_ forbidden?!”**

The two women and one gator retreated back into their respective portraits, and all of the portrait ghosts had clearly guilty expressions. “Ah, my apologies,” said Sally. “Carry on.”

Vincent shook his head, muttering something about everyone acting like children, before he retreated back through the ceiling. Then his voice boomed through the speakers once more.

**“Of course, there’s always MY way… ”**

There was a clap of thunder, the lights went out, and the ceiling seemed to vanish, in fact going transparent, to reveal the Ghost Host’s skeletal corpse, illuminated by lightning flashes, dangling from a noose attached to the top of the cupola above the room.

A few moments later, the entire room was plunged into darkness, but instead of the horrible scream everyone expected, there was a sudden commotion, the whooshing and smacking of things being thrown, a sound like cracking stone and splashing, and the startled yells of two certain women.

Once the chamber was re-lit, the sight that greeted the shocked and confused visitors was less than reassuring. The illustrated men were all panicking and frantically gesturing and yelling for the chaos unfolding before them to stop, but it was too late. Sally had thrown her umbrella out of her portrait and into that of Constance, who had been struck in the chest and ended up toppling off of her late husband’s tombstone as it cracked in two. She had, however, managed to throw her hatchet at the last moment, missing Sally but severing her tightrope; the girl was now caught in the jaws of her own alligator, her legs spread wide and forcing them open in a fashion not unlike a certain cartoon pirate captain being tormented by a rather different crocodilian. Needless to say, both women were now leveling absolutely furious glares at each other, Sally now struggling to escape her starving pet’s maw and Constance having sprung to her feet, waving her fists angrily at her assailant.

“THAT DOES IT! THIS IS WAR, YOU BRAINLESS BIMBO!” the enraged widow shouted.

“Bring it, old lady,” the parasol-tosser shot back. “Don’t be surprised if you find a hungry alligator in the attic chowing down on your derriere tonight!”

The panel leading to the portrait hall slid open a little more quickly than usual. High above the fleeing tourists, the corpse of the Ghost Host rubbed his forehead in total frustration.

 **“I’m _dread_ fully sorry that you mortals had to see all of this,” **he moaned. **“Just… Just go and enjoy the ride, and ignore everything that happened in this room tonight. And you ladies? After the park closes for the evening, I believe we have a pending conversation.”**

“FINE!” Sally shouted back. “I was going to file a complaint ANYWAY!”

The guests unanimously decided not to stick around to hear the ensuing argument. But as they made their way towards the Doom Buggies, one little boy’s voice was barely audible through the understandably disturbed murmuring of the crowd.

“Wow, they really _did_ go all out with the special effects this year…”


End file.
